(My friend and I are browsing t-shirts. We’re glad to be out of the 97-degree heat wave attacking all of Vermont. Suddenly, we hear an angry customer behind us.)

Customer: “It’s an outrage! You should be ashamed of yourselves!”

(We turn around and see a middle-aged man yelling at the two young ladies behind the register. He appears completely normal otherwise.)

Customer: “I refuse to shop here! This is completely immoral!”

(He begins to go around to every single customer and repeat some variation of this rant, which we can’t quite catch until he runs up to us.)

Customer: *to us* “Don’t shop here. Leave right now. They have their door open and the air conditioning on and it’s CRIMINAL! If you shop here, you hate the environment!”

(He goes to the door, spins around dramatically and yells out one last time.)

Customer: “This business supports global warming! Don’t give them your money; they’re trying to destroy the earth for profit!”

(He then stomps outside, presumably to repeat this same rant to every other store on the block.)

Cashier: *to us* “Our air conditioning isn’t even on…”

This story is part of the second Heatwave roundup!

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(I work the graveyard shift stocking shelves at a major East Coast supermarket chain. Recently, there’s been a push by upper management for us to raise our “numbers” for productivity. I overhear this conversation between the night shift manager and assistant manager.)

Assistant Manager: “So, I was thinking, when we have to block the aisles, could you follow behind me and do all of the upper and lower shelves for me while I do the one in the middle?”

Manager: “What?”

Assistant Manager: “Well, they want us to get our numbers up, so I figure the aisles will go faster if I do the stuff at arm level and just go down the aisle.”

Manager: “So, you want me to do all of the work that requires actual effort so you can do only the easiest work and get better numbers than me?”

Assistant Manager: “Yes! Exactly!”

(A customer obviously having a bad day comes through my line. She throws her stuff down on the belt.)

Me: “Did you find everything—”

Customer: “JUST DO YOUR JOB!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am.”

(I give her the total, and she all but throws her money at me and rips her change out of my hand.)

Customer: “TOOK LONG ENOUGH!”

Me: “Have a nice day, ma’am!”

(The next day, the same customer comes through my line. I greet her and start putting her items through.)

Customer: “Look, I want to apologize for my behavior yesterday. I was having a bad day and had no right to treat you that way.”

Me: “That’s alright, ma—”

Customer: “NO! IT MOST CERTAINLY IS NOT ALRIGHT!”

(I am bagging groceries at the checkout for a family during Christmas week. This is the busiest week of the year, with many rich out-of-staters coming up to go skiing.)

Little Girl: “Mommy, look what I found! What should I do with it?”

(I look over and see that the little girl has found money on the ground.)

Mother: “Shhhh! Just put it in your pocket, quick!”

(Knowing our store’s policy, I speak up.)

Me: “Actually, if you don’t mind, can I hand it into the service desk? That way, if the person who lost it returns, they can get it back.”

(The little girl hands it to me willingly and I go hand it in. A couple of minutes later, the parents come up to the service desk.)

Father: “My little girl found some money on the ground, and some employee made her hand it in. However, I think she should just have it.”

Manager: “Store policy says that if no one comes to claim it after thirty days, then the person who found it—your little girl, in the case—can have it.”

Father: “But it was all tightly rolled up! The person who dropped it was obviously using it to snort coke or something!” *leaves with his family*

(Ten minutes later, the same family managed to con their way into getting the money by speaking with a different employee at the service desk. The real, original owner—one of our regulars—came in two hours later inquiring about $40 he dropped, which at that point was unfortunately long gone.)

(I’m a rather busty female and I work in a grocery store. An elderly man walks up to my register with his cart.)

Customer: “Well, I see you got new jugs!”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “New jugs. I quite like ’em. Better grip. Oh, yeah, much better grip.”

Me: *stares wide-eyed*

Customer: *places two bottles of prune juice on the counter*

Me: *relieved* “Oh, yes. They redid the bottles on those. New jugs.”

Customer: “Mmmm. Prune juice. I quite like it. Keeps me regular.”